


Can You Hear the Wolves? They're Howling Outside Your Door

by eden22



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Post 3.26, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-23 11:10:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13188819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eden22/pseuds/eden22
Summary: Kent was going to throw up, he was having a heart attack, he was going to pass out because there, in front of God and SportsNet and everybody, Jack fucking Zimmermann was kissing some blonde kid.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end note for trigger warnings, though the tags should give you a decent idea of what they are.
> 
> Unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own.

Kent wasn’t sure what he was feeling as he watched Zimms score that final goal. He could hear his teammates around him, shouting commentary up at the screen as the final few minutes ticked down on the clock and the Schooners frantically tried bring it back to a tie game; a game it was obvious they’d already lost. The sounds of the bar were distant though, second to the white noise currently buzzing through his ears as he stared up at the screen as Jack slammed into his teammates, a grin stretched wide across his bearded face. He was happy for him, he was, whatever Zimms might think of him, whatever he, on his worst days, might think of himself. He was capable of being happy for the man he’d once imagined he’d spend the rest of his life loving. That that happiness was also snared up in years of pain and anger and the pervasive, inescapable sense of having been abandoned, well. That was what had Kent looking down from the giant television screen as the final horn sounded and the arena exploded in blue and gold. He spun his glass on the bar, watching as the ring of condensation it left behind was smeared by the drag of the glass against the wood as he spun it, and then spun it again. He bit his lip and let himself, just for a moment, be overwhelmed by the complicated, tangled mess festering inside his chest. It was painful, and it was probably for that best that it was only a second before his internal spiral was interrupted by Scraps nudging his shoulder. 

“Uhhhh, hey Parser,” he said, and Kent finally raised his head. “You seen this?” he asked, and Kent raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s on the screens, Scraps.”

“Naw, look,” Scraps said, shaking his head, “It’s all over social...” He handed Kent his phone, and Kent was going to throw up, he was having a heart attack, he was going to pass out because there, in front of God and SportsNet and everybody, Jack fucking Zimmermann was kissing some blonde kid. 

“Fuck,” he said, so quiet that he was sure no one had heard it and then Carl was leaning over his shoulder, saying the same shit he always was and Kent had to make sure his expression was blank, needed to shove down everything he was feeling and shit, _shit_ , he had to get out of there but he couldn’t– 

Barky was a bulky presence at the corner of his awareness as he shoved at Carl’s shoulder, offering the same passive, not-quite-admonishment he did everytime Carl started up with the same tired homophobic bullshit. At least Cowboy was home with his wife and the new baby tonight, and Iggy was across the bar, far from Kent’s hearing range. If he had to hear someone call Zimms a faggot right now, Kent thought he’d shatter into a million pieces. He could hear the word anyways, scratching across the edge of his hearing, but he didn’t know if he was actually hearing it or if his brain was conjuring ghosts for him. He knew the blood he could taste in his mouth wasn’t real, a phantom from when he was fifteen and his stepfather had caught him watching gay porn, the taste of shock and fear just as real as the taste of iron. At least he thought it was just a memory, until he ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek and felt a sharp sting of pain and realized that he’d bit his cheek without realizing it, hard enough that blood was pooling behind his teeth. What a perfect fucking metaphor, he thought, swallowing the blood. 

Kent breathed in, breathed out, and handed Scraps his phone back. He said something as he handed it over, fuck if he knew what. His own voice was ringing distant and strange in his ears. He needed to get out of there. Needed to be anywhere but in this bar, surrounded by his teammates. He could still hear the word faggot echoing across the edges of his hearing. He still had no idea what the fuck his face was doing. _God_. 

“Well,” he said, standing and throwing back the rest of his drink, “I’m out.” Not his best exit line, but whatever. He was happy to be standing on his own power, even if something about him was making Scraps frown up at him, his face a mask of concern that Kent couldn’t fucking deal with. He dug his nails into his palms, plastered a grin on his face, and turned to leave. He’d made it two steps, eyes on the exist, when fucking Carl reappeared to throw his arm over Kent’s shoulder. 

“C’mon Cap,” he slurred, his breath a warm wash of tequila-scented air over Kent’s cheek. Kent wrinkled his nose in disgust, before trying, and probably failing, to turn it into one of his signature slow smirks.“You can’t leave yet. You haven’t even picked up yet.” Kent laughed, and he wondered if it sounded as hollow as he felt. 

“Whatever man,” he said, shrugging off Carl’s arm and waving his phone in the other man’s face. “Who needs to pick up when you’ve got the contact list I do.” Carl howled with laughter, predictable, and Kent usually got along with most of the guys, could at least stand to make friendly conversation with all of them, but right then all he wanted to do was shove his fist through Carl’s face. Instead, he met Carl’s proffered fist with his own, rolling his eyes and feeling someone else’s hand slap against his back as he headed out of the bar. This routine, at least, was familiar, the script one he had read from a hundred times before. He avoided even looking in Jeff’s direction, hoped that he hadn’t seen what Scraps had shown him, the fucking _kiss_ , that he didn’t notice Kent leaving the bar. He prayed the other man wouldn’t follow him. 

The air outside of the bar was just as stifling as inside, but Kent still felt like he could breath a billion times easier, the rise and fall of his chest like a bird’s cage cracking open. His hands were shaking, hell his whole body was probably shaking and it didn’t seem like it could possibly be him who was standing outside a bar in the burning heat of the Las Vegas spring, falling apart. How had this become his life. The nausea from earlier swept through him again without warning, and Kent spun, slapping a hand against the side of the building as he bent over and vomited every drink he’d had over the past three hours into the gutter, spun through with blood. He stared at the ground, watching black spots dance across his vision, and briefly debated just sitting down right there and never fucking moving again. But then one of the guys would see him when they left the bar, and Kent pushed himself up off the wall. 

Wiping his mouth against the back of his hand, Kent avoided the eyes of the crowd around him as he turned and began walking. Just another day in Vegas for most of them, anyways – it wasn’t like Kent hadn’t seen a million people vomiting outside of bars since he’d come to this fucking hellhole. The bar was far enough from his condo that he’d normally order an Uber, but the nervous energy twisting its way through his bones pushed his feet forward instead, the lights of the strip swirling around him. His brain was stuck, looping over and over again the sight of Zimms bending down to kiss a guy (that wasn’t Kent, that wasn’t ever going to be Kent it had been fucking years Parson what the fuck is wrong with you why can’t you just goddamn move on and let it _go_ ). The other half of his brain was playing a highlight reel of the worst moments of Kent’s life: Zimms lying on that bathroom floor not breathing, why the fuck wasn’t he breathing, oh god were those pills?; his stepfather staring at him, breathing hard, Kent’s blood on his knuckles and Kent’s mom crying behind him; Kent standing on the balcony of his penthouse condo the night after he’d won the Stanley Cup his rookie year and thinking about jumping; his mom walking into the kitchen with a black eye and tightly telling Kent that she’d run into a cabinet even though he’d fucking _heard_ him, why was she lying to protect him? And through it all, that same familiar refrain that had followed him his whole life: _faggot, faggot, faggot._

He was almost startled to find himself in his condo though it wasn’t that surprising that his feet had carried him there on autopilot, through the city, past his doorman, and up the elevator – he’d done it plenty of times before. Though, usually it was because he was too drunk to remember exactly how he’d gotten there, his movements smearing and blurring together under the haze of alcohol. _Why would Zimms do this to me?_ he thought to himself, followed by the slightly detached realization that Zimms probably hadn’t thought about him at all. Kent could still taste bile on his tongue and deeper still, that old familiar anger that had driven him to lash out at Zimms as cruelly as he knew how the last time he’d seen him. 

This was going to come back on Kent. Zimms had to have known. He _had to_ have known. Maybe not yet, maybe it would take the wolves a few days before they scented blood, but sooner or later someone would remember the rumours that had plagued him and Zimms during their years playing in the Q. Sooner or later someone was going to turn to him and say, hey Parson, are the rumours true? Are you a fag, just like your old pal Zimmermann? And Kent would say fuck no, and the press would say oh, there goes Kent Parson, being homophobic again, is he really setting the best example as a Captain? And he’d have to no homo it up with his team and keep on ignoring the barrage of slurs thrown around the locker room every day and he’d keep on playing the same fucking charade he’d been playing every day for the last six fucking years. Hating himself a bit more every day. 

Or he’d say yeah, I fucking am a faggot, what of it? And the press might not say it directly but they’d still question if it was a distraction from his game, from him being the Aces’ Captain, while every single fucking dickass homophobe in the NHL made it their personal goal to beat his head in. Zimms was big, he was Bad Bob’s son, he had his team on his side, but Kent was a small guy, a vulnerable player, the reason they had guys like Barky on the team. And it wouldn’t just be guys on other teams – Carl might be mostly harmless but he’d seen the snarl of disgust on Iggy’s face when he’d seen two guys dancing together in a club one night, had heard Cowboy and Schwartz laughing about the faggots they’d beat up in high school. He’d probably have to retire, or maybe he’d be the first player to die on the ice, or maybe he’d just get his face kicked in in the locker room after practice one day. A good ol’ fashioned gay bashing, blood all over the tiles, mixing with the water and washing away the one good thing that Kent has ever managed to hold on to.

Kent wanted to throw up again, but he had nothing left in him to give. Instead, he walked into his bathroom, opened up the cabinet, and began pulling out every bottle of pills he owned – two types of sleeping pills, two types of antidepressants, a bottle of lithium – all of them barely touched because he just couldn’t shake the fucking ghost of Jack Zimmermann out of every aspect of his life and every time he took so much as an ibuprofen all he could see was Zimms, seventeen and slurring that he was fine, he was _supposed_ to be taking this many pills. And maybe this is how it was always going to go. Kent had thought it before, more than once. It should have been him on that bathroom floor, him who’d missed the draft. Zimms had always been the better of the two of them, he’d never deserved any of the shit life had thrown at him, not the way Kent did. 

Kent lined the bottles up on the counter, evenly spaced, labels all facing outwards, and then he stepped backwards across the floor until his back hit the wall. He let himself slide down it until his ass his the cold tile floor, knees bent in front of him and arms draped limply over the knobs of them. His phone was digging into his ass so he pulled it out, unlocking it with familiar movements. His finger hovered over Zimms’ name, a conversation thread full of him apologizing, wishing Jack luck, congratulating him on wins, and never a word back, but no – if he was doing this, if he was finally doing this, then he was done being cruel. And it would be cruel, to do that to Zimms. He could picture it, Zimms’ face as he saw his call history in the morning (because no way was he answering his phone right now), as he reluctantly clicked on the voicemail icon, the way his face would twist up as he listened to whatever acidic words Kent would conjure up. He was so fucking tired of trying to make Zimms feel the pain Kent had felt when Zimms had just completely cut Kent out of his life after the draft. He was tired of being the bad guy in the narrative of Zimms’ life, tired of trying and failing to make amends for what? Being an idiot teenager in love with his best friend?

As much as Kent wanted to scream at him, rage at him, make him hurt as much as Kent was hurting – he couldn’t do it. At least one of them was able to be happy, in the end, Kent thought as he clicked on the Notes app icon instead. Zimms was in love, his team supported him, he had Alicia and Bob and all those hockey bros that Kent had met that last, terrible time they’d spoken. Kent was surprised to find his lips curving up in a slight smile as he began to type. He debated, for a moment, who he wanted to address it to, before deciding to just leave it blank. He had other notes, on actual paper, written at various times across the years, addressed to various people, all shoved into a shoebox at the back of his closet, but he didn’t want to go and get them. Didn’t want to risk what giving himself any time and distance might do to his resolve. He glanced up at the bottles, took a deep breath. _There are only so many times_ , he thought to himself, _that you can come close, before you eventually just have to do it_. 

And he was just so fucking tired. 

_I’m sorry_ he started, because he was. _Jeff, please take care of Kit, I know she’ll wreck your furniture and I’m sorry, but I know you secretly love her anyways, so you can just deal with it._ He glanced around, feeling guilty, but he didn’t see her – at this time of night, she was probably busy in the living room, destroying the seventh incredibly expensive cat tree he’d bought for her. Jeff really did love her, and she loved him. She’d be fine. _Mom, Trish, Suzie_ he wrote, then stopped, staring at the screen. What could he possibly say to his mom and sisters that would make this okay? He went back, deleted ‘mom’, then continued, _I love you so much. I know you’re gonna do great things, both of you. I’m sorry I won’t be there to see you graduate._ He swallowed, thunking his head back against the wall as tears finally, reluctantly began to squeeze themselves from his shuttered eyes. _Zimms,_ he typed without bothering to look down at the screen. _I’m happy for you. I’m sorry for everything, I really am. I hope he loves you as much as I did, I hope you love him the way you never could love me._

Kent leaned forward, rereading that last line. He frowned. That was a bit mean, maybe, a final, petty jab when Zimms would never be able to strike back but… his finger hovered over the delete button. He shouldn’t le–

“What the fuck.” Kent’s phone clattered to the ground, and he spun on the floor to see Jeff standing in the bathroom doorway, staring wide-eyed at the bottles of pills lining the counter. His eyes flicked to Kent, then back to the pills. 

“What the hell, Jeff–” Kent said, at the same time that Jeff spoke. 

“Did you take any of those?” Jeff kept talking, repeating himself. “Kent. Did you take any of those?” 

“No,” Kent said, and the expression of relief on Jeff’s face was nauseating, it was infuriating. Kent scrambled to his feat. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, and Jeff’s expression was somewhere between incredulatly and anger as he met Kent’s eyes. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he said. “After the way you left that bar? After fucking Zimmermann came out on live TV?” 

“What the fuck would I care ab–”

“I know,” Jeff said, interrupting, and Kent’s mouth was open, but he couldn’t, Jeff couldn’t– “I know you and him were together. I know you’re… not straight.”

“What? What the fuck are you talking about Jeff, that’s bullshit rumours. There’s no–”

“Fuck off Parser. I’ve been your best friend for almost seven years. I was there your rookie year. Don’t fucking insult me by lying.” Kent shut his mouth, staring at the other man. Jeff sighed, running his hand down his face. “Fuck,” he muttered into his palm. “Can we go into the living room?” he asked. Kent couldn’t help himself, he knew he shouldn’t, but he glanced at the bottles anyways, looking back just in time to see the expression on Jeff’s face tighten into something like anger. 

“I think you should leave,” Kent said. 

“There is no way I’m leaving you right now,” Jeff said, bending over to grab Kent’s phone from the tiles. He glanced at the screen as he picked it up, and Kent really couldn’t deal with the expression on his face as he handed the phone to Kent. Kent locked it, putting it in his pocket.

“Please leave Jeff,” Kent repeated, voice cracking slightly on the ‘please’. “This is… I’ll be fine, I just need to be alone right now.”

“If I leave, you’ll kill yourself, and I’m sorry Parse but that’s not happening, not tonight. Let’s go to the living room. You can tell me all about Jack fucking Zimmermann. Who I’m going to punch the next time we play together, I don’t care what you say.” Kent couldn’t help his surprised laugh, weak though it was. He ran his hand over his face, then sighed. 

“Fine,” he said, pretending not to see how Jeff’s shoulders slumped in relief, “but you’re not allowed to complain if I end up crying on you”

“Deal,” Jeff said, and Kent closed the door to the bathroom behind him as he followed Jeff out into the hallway. 

There was always next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: suicidal thoughts, past suicidal behaviours. Explicit discussion of methods and intent. No real resolution of character's suicidal ideation. Use of homophobic language, including slurs, by multiple characters. Explicit violent imagery, all occurring in character's imagination, no actual violence depicted. 
> 
> Some resources (Canada specific):  
> [Canadian Suicide Prevention](https://suicideprevention.ca/)  
> [Find a local crisis centre or hotline](https://suicideprevention.ca/need-help/)  
> [How to make a safety plan](https://au.reachout.com/articles/how-to-make-a-safety-plan)  
> [Kids Help Phone](https://kidshelpphone.ca/)
> 
> Y'all I have so many feelings about Kent Parson I don't even know what to do with them. My poor, poor trash son.
> 
> (This fic continues my trend of shoving all my mental health issues into Kent Parson, whatever, you can't stop me)
> 
> ~~There might be a follow-up to this, might not. I wrote this all in one sitting on the drive from Radium to Calgary so. No real plans.~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing can fix this. But sometimes, some things can make it better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuyumi, Kaori, Yumi, and Asa are OCs from [Player Fifteen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11325225) – they didn't get much screen time in that fic, so I dragged them into this one as well.

Fuyumi woke up just before her alarm, blinking blearly in the grey half-light of the early morning. She could feel the dip in the bed that announced her husband’s presence, but she still glanced over at him, his bare back facing away from her. She didn’t know when he had come in last night – it must have been late, she hadn’t woken up at all – but he had been out with the guys so she wasn’t surprised. She just hoped none of those idiots had done anything too stupid – whenever they didn’t make the playoffs, they tended to get extra rowdy, as if they were trying to maximize on the extra, unwanted, time off. 

Turning back to her side of the bed, Fuyumi swung her legs over the side of the mattress. She made a face at the press of cold hardwood against her feet as she stood. Walking to the bathroom, she went to the toilet, then drank a glass of water as she carefully considered her reflection in the mirror. Reaching up, she tugged at the strands of her long black hair. Maybe she should get bangs again? Or dye it? She was so boring now. She made a face at herself in the mirror as she picked up her toothbrush. She was turning into her mother, she knew it. 

Finished in the bathroom, Fuyumi headed back into the bedroom, glancing at her husband’s still sleeping form before heading towards the kitchen. She might as well get started on breakfast before the kids woke up and began getting in the way. Kaori and Yumi were starting to get to the age where getting them up for school was becoming a bit of a struggle, but Asa still woke up early and with more energy than Fuyumi thought she’d ever had in her entire life. She was walking past the living room when she stopped, pulled up short by the sight of a familiar shock of blonde hair on the arm of her couch. She frowned, taking a couple steps forward, taking in the familiar sight of Kent Parson sleeping in her living room. She bit her lip, staring down at him. It was never a good sign, him sleeping on the couch rather than the spare bedroom – it only happened when Jeff insisted upon it, since Kent claimed sleeping on the couch killed his back. 

It only happened when Jeff decided he couldn’t trust Kent with a door that locked. 

Fuyumi sighed, glancing down at her phone to check the time. So much for her head start on the day – instead she turned around, heading back to the bedroom. Jeff woke slowly and loudly, with dramatic groaning that had Fuyumi rolling her eyes as she nudged at his shoulder. Finally, he blinked his eyes open, staring up at his wife with a confused look on his face. 

“Whasi-time?” he mumbled. Fuyumi ignored his question.

“Why is Kenny on the couch?” she asked. 

“What?” he asked, a bit more clearly this time. 

“Kenny. Parser. Parson. Our demonic adopted son. Why is he on the couch?” Jeff blinked at her a couple more times, before groaning and sitting up. He rubbed his hand over his face. 

“Shit,” he said, then looked at her. “Did you watch the game last night?” Fuyumi shook her head. 

“It was on in the living room, but Kaori was having homework troubles, so I didn’t get the chance to watch much of it.” 

“Jack Zimmermann came out on live TV last night.” The breath Fuyumi sucked in at that was unnaturally loud in the early morning hush of their bedroom. “He kissed this guy – his boyfriend I guess – on the ice after they won the cup.” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Fuyumi said, with feeling. Jeff nodded. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Parser disappeared from the bar before I had the chance to grab him. I followed him home, and when I got there…” Jeff paused, swallowing. Fuyumi knew, even before he continued, what he was going to say. The sinking in her stomach, the look in her husband’s eyes, Kenny asleep on their couch as he had been so many times over the years. The words her husband said were just an unnecessary confirmation of a truth Fuyumi had visited before. 

“When I got there he was sitting on his bathroom floor, writing a… a note on his phone, with all these fucking pill bottles lined up on the counter.” Fuyumi leaned forward abruptly, putting a hand on her husband’s knee while the other rose unconsciously to twist the collar of her shirt as Jeff shook his head. “Who the fuck gave him that many pills?” he whispered. Fuyumi opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a loud shriek from the living room. 

“UNCLE KENNY!” Fuyumi watched as Jeff’s eyes widened, exhaustion and resignation swirling across his face. 

“Guess Asa’s awake,” he said. Fuyumi signed, a sudden, bone-deep exhaustion twining with exasperation as she raised her eyes to the ceiling, and Jeff chuckled weakly. He moved to pull back the covers, but Fuyumi stopped him with a press of her hand against the comforter. 

“You got in so late last night, sleep for a bit longer.” Jeff opened his mouth to protest, but stopped at the look his wife shot him. “I’ve got this,” she said, voice firm. Jeff gave her a weak smile. 

“Are you sure?” he said. “It’s hard enough making breakfast with three kids underfoot, much less four.” Fuyumi shook her head at him, unable to help the small, fond smile that crossed her face as she stood. “I’m sure,” she said, leaning down to press a kiss to Jeff’s lips, smiling again as he caught his hand in his own, large and warm and squeezing tight. She smiled at him again as she pulled away, before pushing him backwards and pulling the duvet over his head. Fuyumi could hear his faint laughter as she finally turned to leave. Closing the bedroom door behind her, she headed toward the living room, calling out as she went. 

“Asa you heathen! Leave Kenny alone he’s sleeping!” Fuyumi rounded the corner to see that Kenny was not, in fact, sleeping – instead, he was pretended to be crushed by her youngest, who was sitting on his stomach with a wide grin splitting her face. 

“Stop!” Kenny said, and Fuyumi couldn’t see his face but she could hear the smile in his voice as she walked closer. “You’re crushing me!” Asa giggled. 

“Am not!” she said. Kenny winked at Fuyumi as she walked into his line of sight. 

“Are too!” 

“Am not!” Asa laughed. “You’re being silly Uncle Kenny.” Kenny shook his head, a somber expression on his face. 

“I wasn’t joking,” he said, “but alas, tis far too late for me now.” Fuyumi couldn’t help but smile as Kenny began to act out what she might say was his most dramatic, over the top death scene yet, Asa giggling the whole time. Finally, Kenny was lying there, eyes closed and tongue sticking out of his mouth. There was something bitter and sour in the back of her throat, and she swallowed roughly. 

“Uncle Kenny!” Asa said, reaching over to grab at Kenny’s cheeks. She stretched them out, pulling at his skin with her small, chubby fingers. Fuyumi winced as the skin on Kenny’s face instantly turned red.

“Aaaaand, that’s enough of that,” she said, stepping in and lifting her daughter off Kenny’s chest, ignoring her whine of disappointment. Kenny played dead for a moment longer before bouncing to his feet, following them into the kitchen. Fuyumi moved her daughter from her hip to her favourite seat on the counter – she liked to be able to survey the whole kitchen while her mom and sisters got ready – and Kenny took his usual seat on one of the barstools at the kitchen island.

“Pancakes?” she asked Kenny and Asa both as she hit the button to start the coffee maker. She turned back in time to see Asa make a face. 

“I want rice,” she said. Fuyumi looked over at Kenny, who shrugged. 

“You know I’m always down for some miso,” he said, and if his smile was a bit brittle around the edges, Fuyumi elected not to point it out. She stared at him for a moment instead, before sucking her teeth and turning to the cupboard to pull out the rice pot. 

“I suppose that means you’ll want natto too then?” she looked over her shoulder just in time to catch Kenny’s crooked smile, while Asa bounced slightly, clapping her hands. 

“Yes!” she said, before turning to Kenny and asking, with the air of smug superiority that only four-year-olds are capable of, “Do you know what natto is Uncle Kenny?” Kenny, who had been eating breakfast with the Troys for years and definitely fucking knew what natto was, leaned forward with a serious expression on his face. 

“No, what is it?” 

“Soybeans! But they’re ferm… ferm–”

“Fermented?”

“Fermented!”

“No!” Kenny gasped, and Fuyumi smiled to herself as she continued to pull out the ingredients for breakfast. The sounds of Asa chattering away to Kenny was a pleasant soundtrack to start her day, even if it didn’t distract from the fact that Kenny was here, _why_ Kenny was here. Fuyumi made a face at the stovetop. It had been almost a year, since the last time, and she’d thought – but she’d clearly been wrong. 

The first time Jeff had brought Kenny home had been January his rookie year. Jeff woke her up that time, whispering that he’d brought Kent Parson home, that he was going to crash with him in the guest room. She’d mumbled something that had vaguely passed as agreement before falling right back asleep. It hadn’t been until the morning, when she’d walked into the spare bedroom to ask if they wanted coffee, and she saw her husband and Parson both fast asleep, the door to the ensuite off of its hinges and leaning against the wall, that she realized that something very, very bad had happened the previous night. Jeff had never told her what it was, that time, and she had never asked. She was familiar enough with Kenny’s demons, she didn’t need to know what that particular monster’s face had looked like. 

She had just put the rice on to cook when Asa’s shout had her turning around to see Jeff wander into the kitchen, wearing only boxers and a Leafs tee-shirt. She smiled as he ruffled Kenny’s hair, the younger man swatting at his arm and muttering the same tired chirp about Jeff’s favourite (allegedly, lucky) sleep shirt. Jeff ignored Kenny’s teasing, coming around the counter to press a kiss to Fuyumi’s mouth, slipping an arm around her waist while he did so. 

“Hey babe,” he whispered. 

“I told you to sleep,” she admonished. 

“And miss out on all the fun?” he asked. She raised an eyebrow at him, but he only winked at her before turning to greet Asa, who screeched in delight as her dad picked her up and swung her around. 

Fuyumi took advantage of her daughter's moment of distraction to cross the kitchen and smack Kenny across the side of the head.

" _Fuck_ ," he hissed. "Fuyumi. Goddamn it." 

"Fuck you Kent Parson," Fuyumi whispered back at him. "How dare you." Kenny's face twisted. 

"You don't get to–" he started, but Fuyumi cut him off.

"We're not talking about this right now," she said, and Kenny's expression changed into one of outrage.

"I wasn't even talking about it!" he whispered, "I was minding my own business, and you just–"

"Later," Fuyumi said. Kenny made a face at her, and she bit back on a smile. The circles under his eyes were even more obvious this close, dark purple stains on pale skin. The image of bottles of pills lined up along the edge of a sink flashed through her vision – tiny pallbearers in a funeral that had yet to pass. She'd been too close, too quiet for too long, and Kenny frowned at her. He opened his mouth, and–

"Coffee's ready," she said at a normal volume, abruptly turning and crossing back to the stove. Jeff was looking at her, but she didn't look away from the fridge as she heard Kenny stand and walk past her, as he offered Jeff a cup. If she looked at Kenny she'd either cry or slap him again. 

If she looked at Jeff, she'd just cry. 

She tracked their movements across the kitchen by sound alone instead, the soft sound of bare feet on the tile floor, the drag of a chair across the floor, Asa's voice as she loudly described to both men the fight Yumi and Kaori had gotten into the previous morning. Fuyumi took a deep breath, then another, and turned and met her husband's eyes. 

"Do we have any shishamo?" she asked. Jeff made a considering face, turning his head to look at Asa. 

"I don't know, do we have any shishamo?" Asa gave him an outraged look. 

"How would I know?" she asked. "I'm a kid." 

"Good point," Jeff said while Kenny snorted. "You wanna go harass Uncle Kenny?" he asked. Asa nodded and Kenny laughed. Jeff let Asa slide down him onto the floor before he joined Fuyumi by the fridge. "I thought we had some in the back," he said. 

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Fuyumi said, frowning into the fridge. "Maybe we–" 

There was a crash from the back of the house, and the sound of running feet, and Fuyumi and Jeff both sighed as Kaori and Yumi finally piled into the kitchen. The entire room promptly descended into the kind of chaos that only three children can generate as Asa loudly greeted her sisters, who were loudly greeting Kenny. Fuyumi and Jeff both abandoned the fridge in favour of turning and watching as Kenny leaned over to listen as Kaori, Yumi, and Asa all talked over each other. Her heart might ache for the way that Kenny’s hand shook as he picked up his cup of coffee, at the pallor of his skin in the early morning light, but right then and there he was laughing, her daughters were smiling, and her husband– 

Her husband was looking at her from less than a foot away, a smile on his lips. The look in his eyes was enough to make her stomach twist in a way that she still had yet to get tired of in eight years of marriage. Fuyumi couldn’t help but return the smile, and he winked at her again. She turned back to her family, still smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After that first chapter, I wanted to write something showing where Kent has love and care in his life. 
> 
> Some fun facts that I just made up!
> 
> > Jeff is from Northern Ontario, he went fifth in the draft to the Toronto Maple Leafs  
> > He met Fuyumi while living in Toronto; she was studying at OCAD and thought he was really hot, and really dumb  
> > Jeff got traded to the Aces after playing for Toronto for two seasons. He was traded for a conditional fourth-round pick  
> > Despite this, the Leafs are still his favourite team*. Kent never stops teasing him for it  
> > He proposed to Fuyumi when he found out about the trade, she told him to fuck off and stayed in Toronto to finish school  
> > She had Kaori while still in school, about nine months after Jeff moved to Vegas (...whoops)  
> > They got married after she graduated, the same year Yumi was born  
> > Asa is named after Fuyumi's grandmother, who Jeff is terrified of  
> > She started her tattoo apprenticeship after Yumi was born  
> > Kent has four tattoos from Fuyumi; Jeff has none  
> > Kent is Asa's godfather
> 
>  *yes, I am biased
> 
> [Honestly hmu on tumblr for more headcanons](http://stevespumpkinbooty.tumblr.com/)


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